


tenderness

by Lee_Mix



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Coming Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lee_Mix/pseuds/Lee_Mix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year of her sixteenth birthday, Alya shares something important with Marinette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> A classic trope of the “coming out” story. Not going to lie, if Adrien wasn’t in the picture, I would totally ship the hell out of these two. Maybe it’s Korra and Steven Universe making me amp up the lady love in every show I’m watching lately, but I’ll just call their ship name “Buggy Wifi”. Even though this isn’t a romance story, just a friendship.

There was an old saying your father told you, when he bounced you on his large knee and covered your nose in flour. He said that everyone has skeletons hidden away in their closet, phantoms of a past that refuse to die. 

Of course, you didn’t know what he meant being only seven and more interested in pretty cakes than anything else, but it was a way to get closer to your bumbling bear of a parent, so you listened to his inane quotes as if they were the wisest council in the world. 

“Mari, I… will you listen to me? Without being… whatever I tell you, will you promise this won’t come between us?”

It’s only as you get older do you realize how _right_ he was.

Sure, you’ve got secrets of your own–if being a red-and-black-clad vigilante heroine stalking the backstreets of Paris and potentially saving the entire world from a crazed lunatic counts as one, then you’re hiding an entire massacre as opposed to one skeleton. Sometimes you swear they dance just shy of people just to mock you in how _easy_ it would be to connect the dots from the back of your costume to the dusting of freckles on your face, but then little reminders in between make you remember that, no, the world _isn’t_ out to get you, and that other people have much more believable problems than you.

Like your best friend. Whatever she’s about to tell you has her biting her lip, skin paling, and refusing to look you in the eye. She’s terrified that it’ll turn you away from her, that it’ll destroy your friendship.

 _There’s no way I’ll let anything destroy it,_ you think with conviction, _because you’re too precious a friend for me to lose._

Instead, you say, “I promise.” Because it’s shorter, sweeter, and it’s obvious Alya is struggling to keep this in. If she doesn’t tell you now, she’ll _never_ tell you, and something will eat her up until there’s nothing left, and you don’t want her to become hollow.

Alya takes a deep breath, rummaged in her pocket, and puts her camera and her phone on the bedside cabinet. It _must_ be serious if she doesn’t want to distract herself with technology.

“Alya?” 

“Your crush on Adrien… that’s normal for girls our age, isn’t it? To like people they admire, they find good-looking?” 

There’s an inevitable pink flush across your cheeks when she mentions that name–another reason you _wish_ you could be Ladybug all the time, but you nod in spite of this. “Well… yeah.” Alya’s chest deflates a little (had she been holding her breath?), and you continue. “Everyone goes through that stage… or maybe most people? I don’t know everyone, but we’re teenagers. Kind of comes with the hormonal craze.”

 _Chloe,_ you think spitefully.

“And… it’s normal, no matter who you… like?”

Her questions leave you confused, furrowing your brow as you try to decode the situation. Why is crime-fighting so much simpler compared the emotional complexities of friendships? Of course, you go for the most awkward answer possible. “If it’s someone who’s eighty, then I’ll be a little _worried,_ but yeah, it’s normal, I suppose. Why?”

“…No matter _who?_ ”

You reach out and touch her arm. “Alya, this is the third time you’ve asked this. Do you… like someone you’re not supposed to, like a teacher?”

“What? No!” Her hand claps her forehead. “I haven’t been phrasing it right, I guess. My fault.” Her hand travels down to cover her mouth, and she curls up. You’ve never seen her look so _young._ “I don’t actually like… _anyone,_ it’s just wh…what type of people I’ve… that I like. Like looking at, I guess.”

You tilt your head. “Alya,” you touch her shoulders, and give them a gentle squeeze. “You can tell me. I won’t… be freaked out, if that’s what you’re scared of. What are you trying to say?”

 _Maybe,_ you think, _I should have gotten the hint already._ It’s just another way that you can’t handle this, but chose to because she’s your best friend and, awkward tendencies aside, _needs_ you to listen.

"I… don’t like _guys,_ Mari.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Now you understand. But still, you have to say, “not at all?”

She shakes her head, and begins to tremble. “Not even a little. I… I mean, I’ve _tried_ to, and I… some of them I guess are sort of nice? But I just… I can’t. I can't picture myself with any of them. Everytime I try, I get _distracted,_ by…”

The word is whispered, and she carries _shame_ with it. “ _Girls._ ”

You’ve seen this sort of situation before. Not in real life, but thanks to television and stories you read online in the middle of browsing, you hear of these stories. Where a person reveals this sort of thing, and people either respond nicely, or cast them out of their lives forever. Most of the people you’ve heard of come out _older,_ though. Not fifteen, not in a tiny bedroom, and not to a person who can barely cope with _straight_ crushes, much less handle the emotional muddle that is her sexuality-struggling best friend who is looking away and trembling with fear.

Even _Ladybug_ couldn’t possibly begin to think of how to handle this, how to respond.  But Alya’s your friend. It’s not like you would have cast her out anyway–love is love as long as both people are able to agree and are happy with everything. Maybe you don’t understand _everything,_ and maybe you never will, but you would never kick someone out of your life for something like that.

 _Especially_ Alya.

So, you do your best. You take her hand, stroke the back of it until she stops trembling, and you give her the biggest smile you can. She’s shocked, obviously, and looks at you with those big doe eyes, and she’s so _scared_ you want to cry.

Actually, you don’t want to, because you already _are,_ along with her.

“Aly,” you tug her close so you can hug her tight. “It’s alright, you know? I don’t… it’s a little… can I research it a little more so I can try and understand it a bit better? I mean, I’m _not_ going to stop being your friend because of it, I just want to support you the best I can.” You hold her closer. “Is that okay?”

Alya doesn’t even speak, but she manages a weak nod in the middle of the silent crying she’s doing into your shoulder.

“It’s _not_ weird _,_ Alya. People are like that all over the world, aren’t they? Finding out this stuff all the time. Maybe it was odd in the past, a long time ago, but that doesn’t need to be the case now, right?” 

“R…right. But you…” She pulls back and looks at you. “You sure you don’t find it… you won’t stop being my friend? If people find out, I could be… bullied.”

“Then I’ll kick their butts. _Nobody_ messes with my Aly-bear.”

She pouts at you. “I appreciate it, but don’t use that nickname… and you’re not exactly the violent type.”

_That’s a skeleton in my own closet I’ll need to tell you someday._

“I would be for my best friend.”

This time, she manages a smile.

“…Thanks, Mari.”


End file.
